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Still Fluttering the Eyelashes, After All These Years

When I first started seeing the color green, it was like a long disease was finally ending. But it was better than mere green; it was rolling hills of green grass, with the mountains of Yellowstone in the background.

I even found a place to camp alone. It would have been a great place for a mountain bike ride except for the sign warning about grizzly bears. And I forgot to buy a can of bear spray!

But I was delighted that the right kind of scenery can still have this effect on me, after all these years. There is nothing special about my central nervous system or brain. So why has this success happened?

The likely explanation is that I have never allowed travel to collapse into a one-dimensional worship of pretty scenery. I have let it rest, from time to time. And then the appetite comes back. 

For instance, green grass represents something of fundamental importance: humans and other animals actually need nature to live, to eat, and for shelter. We can't get necessities from red arches at a national park in Utah. We can't eat spines and thorns. Water is so important.

I took a couple photos with my smartphone. They dishonor what was actually there, so why even show them? Even if they were good, why show them? The reader can probably have more fun using their imagination.

Or the reader can do a search of "images of green hills" to get a good sample, although none of their images had rugged mountains looming over the hills.